( closed ) let me wrap my teeth around the world

[nonvoting]

WHO: tseng & rufus permanent catchall
WHEN: all at once
WHERE: everywhere
WHAT: everything
NOTES/WARNINGS: the usuals for ff7: parental death, mass murder, unethical human experimentation, less mass-y but still severe murder, ecoterrorism (both ways) etc. etc.

Comments

[unionized]

[There's only one floor left to ascend, now, and it's curious how his mood has shifted over the course of their little tour. The ground floor had been uncertain, even a little bewildering; General Affairs had proven eyebrow-raising but nostalgic. He'd had his reservations about the executive suite at first, then had them vaporized upon the discovery of Darkstar in what he can now, at last, begin to think of as his quarters. And now they're going up to his office, his demesnes. His throne.

It feels right, to do it like this: Darkstar to his left, Tseng to his right, one at each hand as he leads the way like the tip of a sword. It feels right to take the stairs up like he's ascending under his own power in a figurative way in addition to the literal one.

And there, at the top, it awaits him: Floor 70, the president's office.

He knows this room was designed to make any visitor that sets foot in it feel small and humbled before the opulence and power of the man who resides therein. The black marble and gold trim make it feel like a temple, and all the architectural sight lines naturally drag the eye to the chair at the focus of it, centrally placed with plate glass windows revealing the city skyline behind it. He remembers being five years old, and seeing the blueprints for this room one lamplit evening; whatever else one might say about his father — and Shiva knows there's a lot one could — he designed a hell of a room.

His room, now. He's not a visitor here. He's a boy-king come home to be crowned.]

It's perfect.

[He means the room, of course, because it is. He also means this moment, the very first one that passes once the three of them have crossed the threshold into the office. It's everything he could possibly have wanted: his throne, his Darkstar, and Tseng.

Again, the irony strikes him that he's the one getting everything, and he's not even the one with the best excuse of the evening for celebrating.]

Don't you think?

[nonvoting]

[ how many times has tseng crossed exactly this length of carpet, approached exactly this desk to deliver a report on some mission, some intelligence, some political opponent brought to their knees? this is a room he would know blindfolded, from the way his footfalls don't quite echo despite the cavernous space, the weight of the air, the size of the thing.

hundreds of times, by now. maybe thousands. and yet as they come up the stairs and enter the president's office, tseng is also keenly aware that this is the first time he's ever set foot here.

it is a faithful rendition, but tseng thinks that's most likely not what rufus means. not the replica, but the significance of it, what it means for rufus to be the only one to ever sit in the chair behind the desk ahead of them. ]

Yes, sir, [ he says again, and means it. ] It is.

[unionized]

[He'd thought that coming here would be a means, no matter how indirect, of giving Tseng something — the only thing he could possibly get away with giving, for the man who asks nothing and expects even less. The fact that he's been the one who's profited so much by it seems both laughable and yet somehow altogether aligned with the way the universe works. He's Rufus Shinra, and being a Shinra means having everything in the world at your fingertips. Turks don't stand out, don't claim favors. They simply deliver on whatever they're asked for.

Maybe this was all he was ever going to be able to do; it's not enough, and he knows that, too. He'd be hard-pressed to quantify all that Tseng deserves, after everything. His fidelity, his expertise, his confidence aren't things repaid with gold watches or time away from the office.

But better the devil you know, and this is the devil Tseng has: the two of them, in his office, so high in the sky that they can almost pretend it's Midgar outside the windows, provided neither one of them looks too closely.]

Then let's make it official.

[He wastes no time; he never does. He walks that carpet like he owns it (he does) and makes his way to the chair, pausing only to check one of the deep bottom cabinets on the hidden side to see just how faithful the companion bots were at recreating it — and there, indeed, is a half-full bottle of top-shelf whiskey and a handful of crystal tumblers, just like the old man preferred.

Just like he prefers, too.

He stays standing as he retrieves the bottle and two of the glasses, pouring identical portions before sliding one to the far side of the desk and keeping the second one close at hand. There's ample room on the carpet to the side and a little behind the chair; Darkstar seems to remember it, too, and settles in easily like the sentinel she is.

Everyone in their place, save him. He picks up the glass he'd reserved for himself, and raises it slightly in a mock toast.]

To perfection.

[He says, and takes his seat, and for a second, it all really is.]

[nonvoting]

[ but it is not, as it turns out, a zero-sum game. it isn't that if rufus gets something, tseng gets nothing, but rather that to tseng, the gift is in being able to grant rufus what he wants. to be here, watching rufus look around the room, to see him cross the space like he owns it (because he does), to see him reach into the lower cabinet to find the bottle of whiskey and crystal tumblers he knows will be there—

that is a gift, to tseng. what more could he want in this world than to see his boy-king take the throne?

he steps forward to catch the glass that rufus slides across the surface of the desk. it's against protocol for tseng to drink on duty, but he suspects that just this once, rufus will let the indiscretion slide. standing just how he's always stood—across from rufus, at ease, one hand at the small of his back and the other cradling his glass of whiskey—tseng lifts his glass to return the toast. ]

To perfection, [ tseng agrees, and takes a sip before rufus can. just in case. old habits, and all. ]